


Dear Friend

by havisham



Category: The Shop Around the Corner (1940)
Genre: F/M, Immigration & Emigration, Marriage, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Klara follows her dear friend across an ocean and into a new world.





	Dear Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuzzyBlueStockings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyBlueStockings/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, Mossy_Birch! All remaining mistakes are mine.

It was snowing again, big fat flakes of snow that stuck to Klara’s eyelashes as she hopped off the streetcar and made her laborious way up the street, weighed down by the many bags and packages resulting from her busy afternoon. She blinked and shook them off, frowning a little. When people saw her, they would smile, and she tried to smile back, though it was a bit of a trial. 

People smiled so much, here in America, without much rhyme and reason. Alfred would say, “When in Rome,” of course, but Klara wished she didn’t have to change so very much about herself to fit into her new home. 

A little self-consciously, she glanced down at the golden band across her finger. It was a part of a pair of rings that was Mr. Matsuchek’s wedding present to them both -- they were fine rings, far better than Alfred would have been able to afford otherwise, but just seeing them gave Klara a pang. She missed them so! Mr. Matsuchek -- Mr. Pirovitch -- Ilona -- Flora -- dear Pepi! And Matsuchek and Company of course, still opening and closing every day on Balta Street in Budapest as it had for long before she’d known it, but now without her and without Alfred. 

They had left Budapest shortly after getting married -- Klara’s brother had already settled in America a decade before and had managed to bring them over before things became too impossible. Klara hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t ever wanted to leave Budapest, her home, and she had thought Alfred wouldn’t have wanted to either, not when he had become the manager of Matsuchek and Company after all those years of hard work and toil. But he, as always, had surprised her. “It would certainly be an adventure,” he had told her, when they were cuddled in the narrow, uncomfortable space that served as their marriage bed. They had to be very careful at night, because it also squeaked terribly, and there were families living on both sides of their little apartment. 

“I’ve always wanted to see the world,” Klara admitted, pushing away some of the hair that had fallen onto Alfred’s face. He blew it away and smiled at her and she thought that she could fall in love with him all over again, when he smiled like that. Not that she would ever tell him that. He was far too conceited as it was. “But it would be another struggle, wouldn’t it? And we’re getting so comfortable here…” 

“We are,” Alfred said, “but Klara, things might change…” 

Klara shivered, even though she was quite warm. They were so wrapped up in their daily lives, with all its attendant struggles and delights, it was easy to forget about the larger world. She had never been one for following the news, except with newsreels, but Alfred did, and the news he read always made him troubled. Klara had been too young to remember the last war -- and Alfred wasn’t much older, but when he’d joined Matsuchek and Company, he’d had no family left because of it. 

“Do you think the war will come to us?” Klara hated how naive she sounded, how unworldly, but she couldn’t help but articulate her fears. After all, if she didn’t say it, then Alfred wouldn’t say anything either, and they’d back to their old ways, talking to each other but without understanding each other. 

“It always does. Klara, if Josef can do it, I think we should. Emigrate, I mean. It’ll be hard and expensive, but in the long run, it would be better.” 

“Well, we can finally use those big suitcases from Matsuchek and Company instead of just selling them, I suppose,” Klara said thoughtfully. “But Alfred, you know, I haven’t studied English since I was a student. What if I’m terrible at it?” 

“You’ll practice on me,” he said. 

She raised her brows. “But do you even know English?” 

He said instantly, “I’ll learn it and practice it with you.” 

“Isn’t it just like you to plan to move to America without knowing a word of English! Alfred Kralik, you’re a fool!” 

“Now, now, I didn’t say I didn’t know a word of English -- I like Shakespeare, after all.” 

“Reading Shakespeare in Hungarian isn’t the same!” 

“My own dear wife, insulting our beautiful mother-tongue? Should I file for divorce?” 

“Your dear wife, huh?” Klara smiled. No matter how many times he said it, it still thrilled her. She did so like being Mrs. Kralik, though of course, as a modern girl, she would never tell Mr. Kralik that. “You wouldn’t divorce me, you liar, that would mean you would be away from the store for too long.” 

“Isn’t it the same for you?” 

Klara had certainly intended on quitting Matsuchek and Company after getting married, but since Alfred was always there and she was easily bored, waiting at home all day for him to return, she had come back too. Ilona had made a fuss about it -- “Klara, you’re too daring, you are!” but the others seemed glad to see her. 

It was a little awkward at first -- Mr. Matsuchek seemed to believe he was responsible for their little love affair, which was puzzling, and took great pleasure in it and Mr. Pirovitch (who was responsible, in certain respects) was benign but gleeful as well. He would so insistent on sharing with them little pearls of wisdom of married life, which always boiled down to the same thing: avoiding expense by avoiding company. Klara didn’t particularly care for that (it wasn’t that she liked company that much herself -- but it seemed rather rude to be so honest about it) -- but she knew Alfred always took Mr. Pirovitch’s advice very seriously. 

So she decided to ask him when she next saw him -- taking stock of the ladies’ handbags before closing. From his hunted expression, she saw that Alfred had already asked him the same thing and he was considering that to tell her. “Mr. Pirovitch,” she said earnestly, “do you think we should go? Alfred wants to, I think, but we’re so comfortable here, now.” 

Mr. Pirovitch considered her question and nodded. “Of course, I would never recommend such disruption and expense as emigration -- though Mama in her youth longed to follow her family to New York, and she’s always been a sensible woman.” 

“But that’s the problem, Mr. Pirovitch!” Klara burst out. “If we went to New York, I could understand it. But my brother lives in Minneapolis! In a place called Minnesota!” 

“Where is that?” 

“I don’t know!” Klara said, frustrated. “It’s in the middle, somewhere. Josef says it snows so much that little children can disappear into the drifts if they’re not careful.” 

“Your brother’s teasing you,” Alfred said over her shoulder and Klara turned to glare at him. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop on other people, Mr. Kralik?” 

“Aren’t you aware that you’re on company time now, Mrs. Kralik? You can continue this discussion later.” 

“Well, I’m glad to have helped,” Mr. Pirovitch said, and cleverly made his escape when the two of them were distracted. Reluctantly, Klara smiled at Alfred, who smiled back at her. 

“Do you really not want to go, Klara?” Alfred asked her softly. 

“It’s not because of -- what you’re thinking,” Klara said, feeling a little miserable. “I’m really not such a coward as that! I don’t mind going into the unknown, if I’m with you. But will we be all right, if we go?” 

“I think so,” Alfred said. “If we’re together, I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.” 

“A few years ago, you’d try to convince me with more high-minded arguments, appealing to my thirst for knowledge, longing for culture,” Klara said, a gleam of mischief in her eye. 

“A few years ago, you’d say the same,” Alfred said. “We didn’t really know each other then. Besides, do people really go to America for the culture?” 

“Ah, that’s true.” Klara sighed. “They really don’t.” 

*

They closed the shop early to see Klara and Alfred off to their new lives. Mr. Matsuchek sternly instructed both Flora and Ilona not to cry, but of course he ended up in tears himself. He gripped Alfred’s arm very tightly and muttered something about him being the son he’d never had. Both Alfred and Mr. Matsuchek looked a little pained after that, emotion stopping them both up, Klara supposed. 

Klara’s aunts and uncles and cousins kept her busy with farewells and last-minute instructions so that she missed the arrival of the Pirovitches. She’d only been to their home once or twice and had met Mrs. Pirovitch on those occasions. Mrs. Pirovitch came now and embraced her, and Klara was grateful, though a little overwhelmed. Mrs. Pirovitch was a sweet, motherly woman who stood a head and shoulders above her husband. She smelled like baking bread. She looked over her shoulder in the midst of the hug and shouted, “Baby! Come and help with the baggages!” 

“Oh, but how can he…?” Klara began to ask, when a very built young man came and up took one of her black suitcases. He winked at her as he went by. Pepi noticed her astonishment and nodded. 

“That’s Baby for ya,” he said cheerfully. “Every family has one.” 

*

They lived now top of a tall house that had once been the residence of a rich family, but since been split into little apartments. Most of their neighbors were Hungarian, such as themselves, with a few Poles and Russians in the mix. Mr. Lazlo, who said he was a poet and worked now at the flour mill, opened the door for Klara when she came in, and she thanked him. 

Her feet ached from standing all day at her job at the makeup counter at Dayton’s, trying to convince wary farmer’s wives that, yes, they did want to buy that red lipstick, even if they had nowhere to wear it. Her job was made harder by the fact that her accent, slight though it was in her ears, made her listeners look at her askance more often than not. 

Klara knew she was lucky to have this job, was grateful that it wasn’t too much of a change from Matsuchek and Company -- selling, selling and selling -- but there she was fooling herself. It was a world of difference! Here no one knew her or cared for her, here everyone knew her to be a foreigner. Klara hated that more than she could say, but she couldn’t tell Alfred that. 

He seemed happy here. He had taken to America like a duck to water. At first, he’d joined her brother working at the flour mill, but then a haberdasher in Saint Paul -- who happened to be from the same street in Budapest as Mr. Matsuchek and had heard Alfred from his childhood friend -- had hired him. Klara wasn’t sure Alfred liked hats as much as all that, but it was undeniable that he was good at selling them. Perhaps he was better at selling hats than she was at selling makeup. 

One of her packages -- a boxed shirt for Alfred -- slipped out of her grasp and Klara made an ill-fated grab for it. All her other packages fell on the floor too. “Oh no!” she gasped, reaching for the first package. But someone beat her to it. Looking up, she saw that it was Alfred. He was still so tall and so gangly that she smiled despite herself. 

“Shopping again, Klara?” Alfred said, as if he also didn’t have a cache of presents squirreled away for Christmas. 

“It’s nothing much,” she huffed. “Some of these things you have to buy or else you’d never have them. I have to get something for you and Josef, and some things to send back to my aunts and …” She shook her head. “Are you just going to stand there, or help me in?” 

“Depends, depends,” Alfred said. There was a gleam of anticipation in his eye. “What have you got for me, anyway?” 

“Something to hide those bowled legs of yours!” Klara said, sweeping into to their apartment, leaving her protesting husband in her wake. 

*

“Sometimes I don’t think you know how hard it is, living here,” Klara whispered into Alfred’s ear, later that night. She thought he was asleep, but then he turned around in bed and looked at her. 

“Then tell me,” he said. “Are you really unhappy?”

“Well, yes. And no. I just --hate that I can’t see you everyday like I used to. I miss Budapest. I miss Matsuchek and Company --” 

“Is that why you said that the Wizard reminded you of Mr. Matsuchek when we went to see _The Wizard of Oz_?” 

“Ah -- shut up! You thought so too, didn’t you?” 

“Of course I did, the Wizard’s a dead ringer for Mr. Matsuchek.” 

They giggled about that for a moment before Klara sigh. 

“What I mean is that -- it feels sometimes like you’re going on ahead while I’m still stuck in the past.” 

“It’s hard for me too, Klara,” Alfred started to say and frowned. “I can’t complain because it’s my idea, but it’s always hard. There are some days I think I’ve made a big mistake and should run back to Budapest. The only thing stopping me is my pride and -- you.” 

“Me?” Klara said in a little voice. “Why me?” 

“You said this would be an adventure. You can’t give up on an adventure just because it’s hard.” 

“Oh…” Klara had strong desire to cry, but she kept it in check the best she could. “I suppose you’re right.” 

They lay together in silence for a while before Klara stirred again. “Alfred, tell me something.” 

“What is it?” 

“Do you dream sometimes of -- well, having your own Matsuchek and Company? Not in Budapest, I suppose, but here?” 

“Kralik and Sons?” he said hopefully. 

“I was thinking more Kralik and Kralik, actually. Well, I’d rather it be Kralik and Novak, but that isn’t quite possible anymore.” 

“Yes. Klara, that’s exactly what I want.” 

“Good,” she said, kissing him. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. That’s what I want as well.” 

*

The years passed quickly after that -- Christmases came and went. Sometimes there would be red carnations in the wooden bowl on their kitchen table, and sometimes there would be nothing but an old cigarette box, its imitation leather sides peeling off, playing a half-hearted rendition of _Ochi Tchornya._ But throughout it all, Klara and Alfred had each other, and eventually they had others too. 

Kralik and Kralik wasn’t built overnight, and sometimes Klara would look over their little store -- and it really was a little store, a discount store that was wholly unlike both the grand department stores she’d worked in both Budapest and in America, as well as her rosy memories of Matsuchek and Company -- but it was still something that was theirs. The counter that she had shined into such a shine was theirs, the neat row of toys and the neat row of housewares was theirs, and Alfred, with an apron tied around his waist, helping a customer get rung up -- well, he was hers! 

“Klara,” he said, frowning at her a little. “Did you remember to ask the Pirovitches for dinner?” 

“Oh yes,” Klara said, blinking. She smiled. “I think they’ll call to cancel, but I did ask them.” 

“Baby’ll make them come,” Alfred said with a wise nod. “He’s a very determined young man.” 

“We should call him Franz, like he wants, but…” Klara laughed. “He still is Baby, isn’t he?” 

“He is,” Alfred said. And then, in the mid-afternoon lull, as the autumn sunlight poured through the windows and warmed them, both Klara and Alfred looked around their store. It was not quite empty -- there was a few young boys lurking behind the comics display -- but it was enough for them to wink at each other from across the room and then go back to work, happy and content. 


End file.
